Love Hurts
by miss atari
Summary: I never got to tell him all the things I wanted to. - Mello's thoughts on Matt during his last few minutes. Death, Mello's POV. One shot.


**inspired by a ficlet i read yesterday entitled 'all i wanted' or something to that extent, thank you writer for adding fuel to my fire. if not for that story i probably wouldn't have had the nerve to actually write this. it was written mainly at work on break listening to yiruma and keiko matsui. to really get the full experience, or blast, rather, music really work wonders. and the sad part is that their songs aren't exactly that sad, i guess its just the context in which this was written. i don't know. in any case, i've been haunted by doing a piece for Mello about Matt, because everywhere I turn, there is one written by Matt for or about Mello. it has been rare for me to see one where Mello has a soft side, and is giving his thoughts on a certain gamer. in the end, i have to go to work in 45 minutes, so enjoy.**

**disclaimer - death note is not mine, and thankfully, i am happy about this.**

**warning - this is my first time writing first pov, so bare with me if it isn't up to par.**

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"_Mels, smoking isn't going to kill me." Matt exclaimed, taking a drag from his cigarette. I shot his attempt of being able to smoke one pack a day down. Why hadn't I listened?_

I never got to tell him all the things I wanted to. I promised myself that I would before leaving Wammy's House. I left without saying a word, not even goodbye. No, "I love you". No, "kiss my ass".

Nothing, nada, zilch.

I did, however, find the time to write a letter explaining my sudden disappearance.

Thanks, Kira. Thank you for taking me away from him. Thank you for the years I didn't get to spend with him. Thank you for the memories we never had the chance to make. Thank you for the tears. But mostly, Kira, thank you for the pain it caused, not just for me, but for him as well.

Matt, my poor little gamer. I remember the first time we met. I'd been raiding the pantry for chocolate when Roger called me to his office. I thought I'd been caught, though it would have been clearly evident even if I hadn't been. Flour painted my black clothing that day. Matt sat in the corner of the room, keeping to himself like he usually did. In his hands rested a game boy, most likely from the nineties. I vowed to get him a new one that day, even though I'd only just laid eyes on the boy.

"Mello," Roger called, "this is Matt, and he'll be rooming with you." I gaped, eyes fluttering back and forth between Roger and the new addition, Matt. I opened my mouth to protest, but Matt beat me to the punch. "Hi, I'm Matt." He looked up from his game, stared at me with bright green eyes and smiled. It was brilliant. Outwardly, I fumed. Inside, I melted.

I don't have many memories from my childhood, or my life before I become a member of the house. And, I can't recall a single memory where he doesn't exist. It's almost as if my life started over when he walked into it. He'd been the answer to my prayers.

We spent all our time together, not because we had been roommates, but because we actually enjoyed the other's company. In no time flat we became best friends. I, in a way, felt like I'd finally achieved something. Someone wanted to be around me, someone liked me for who I was, someone saw through the façade I'd managed to dredge up from somewhere inside of me. I felt ecstatic when Matt told me he trusted me with his life, but more so, when he told me he loved me.

We were barely old enough to understand what love meant, but we knew it. Well, Matt knew what it meant long before I did. It wouldn't be another few hours before I grasped the idea, the mere thought of it, and now I regret not telling him when I'd had the chance. Or, chances, rather.

It had begun as playful wrestling, but somewhere along the line it turned into something more serious. I'd managed to pin him down against the floor, my hands holding his wrists above his head. Our legs had been tangled and our bodies touched in all the right places. We didn't move though, we were too scared. One look was all it took to identify the fear in his eyes, and I'm more than positive that he knew I was afraid too. Afraid of what we were getting ourselves into, afraid of the things we didn't quite understand, afraid of what wandering eyes would think, afraid of everything that could possibly scare two teenage boys in a time like that.

He didn't hesitate, though, when he leaned up and kissed me. It didn't last long and it had been a bit sloppy, but nonetheless, Matt kissed me and I enjoyed it. I remember my face heating up when he pulled away. Matt smiled softly, and I ran a hand through his fiery tresses. It was then, almost as if it was supposed to have happened, when Matt turned his face away from me. To look at what, I can't tell you, but I know that the look on his face was enough to break my heart. I assumed he had been trying to decipher what he'd just done and what he had accomplished by kissing me, but boy did I have another thing coming to me.

"Matt," I whispered, "what's wrong?"

He gulped, closed his eyes and stirred underneath me. I took that as a sign to remove myself from his body, but he protested as his arms tightly wound around my waist, pulling me closer. I froze instantly.

"Mello, I have to tell you something." His voice had been shaky, he was trembling. I nodded against his chest. He took a deep breath, exhaled and grasped my chin between his thumb and fore finger. Our eyes locked on the other, and he opened his mouth. "Mello, I.. I," he stammered, "I l-love you." He captured my lips for the second time that night and I melted against them, giving into his dominant behavior for the first time since I'd known him.

I was then, and would forever be, **his**.

He knew I wouldn't say it back, but still, that didn't keep him from placing soft kisses on my head or rubbing my back. Still, that didn't stop him from holding me, because in all honesty, I wanted him to do those things. At least he picked up on that much. I, Mello, wouldn't tell him what he meant to me, but through my actions, he received the answers he wanted. He knew I loved him too.

And I _did_.

And I _do_.

Months before L's death and Kira's trivial pursuit on Near and myself, Matt took up the awful habit of smoking. He proclaimed that it helped calm his nerves during cram week. I hated it, but it made him happy. The least I could do was control the amount of cancer sticks he smoked in one day.

"Matt, smoking is going to be the death of you." I told him on several occasions. He simply shook his head in protest. "Mels, smoking isn't going to kill me." Matt exclaimed, taking a drag from his cigarette. I shot his attempt of being able to smoke one pack a day down. Why hadn't I listened to him?

"Besides, Mels. You're going to die of diabetes," he stated nonchalantly. I cut my eyes at him while biting off a corner of my chocolate bar. He sighed and went back to playing his video game. Which, by the way, I did buy him a new handheld like I said I would.

Now, as I watch the scene unfurl before me, listening to the annoying voice of the woman in the back of the truck, I remember what I'd meant to say those many years ago. The first round of bullets are fired, and as I watch his body tumble backwards towards his car, he still looks like the boy I fell in love with. The second round appears from behind those whom had shot off the first rounds. His body smacks into the side of the car, sliding limply down, stopping at a lethargic sitting position. The tears that began threatening to spill when I first saw him on that small television fell rapidly, blurring my vision and making it harder for me to drive.

The cameras focused on him dying, and I paid extra close attention.

Behind the cigarette dangling from his lips, he found the energy to mouth "I love you". I choked back a sob, watching the ashes from it tumble down the front of his vest, followed by the cancer inducer itself.

"I love you too," I cried out, somehow hoping that it would reach him, wherever he was.

It wasn't long before my heart beat came more quickly, I knew my name was entered into the book. I tightened a fist on the steering wheel and hoped for the best. My body became cold, my thoughts drifted, and then it all went black. There was no more, it had ended.

Matt, I was wrong when I told you smoking would be the death of you.

It hadn't been smoking that killed you, Matt, it had been me.

I believe you knew that in the end I'd ultimately be your death.

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**meh, i believe i could have done so much more with this, but i'm too lazy at the moment. plus, i actually like it this way. oh well, yeah? - gives out homemade ginger bread men - R&R plx? i'll love you forever n.n; no flaming D:**


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